Turnabout is Fair Play
by ColieMacKenzie
Summary: How is it that he can make fun of her for Valentine's Day and then make her watch this. It's a good thing she has a plan... Episode insert for 5x11, "Under the Influence". Goes between the first day, and the second morning when Beckett wears that blue sweater and the scarf so strategically wrapped around her neck…


**Turnabout Is Fair Play**

**AN:** Episode insert for 5x11, "Under the Influence". Goes between the first day, and the second morning when Beckett wears that blue sweater and the scarf so strategically wrapped around her neck… ;)

* * *

"She's getting stalked in the woods by demonic trees? Castle, what_ is_ this?" She digs into the bowl of caramel popcorn, popping a few pieces into her mouth, her eyebrows knitted as she chews.

"It's a cult classic, Kate!"

"It's _trees_, Rick." Her 'R' rolls with her skepticism at that fact.

"Yes, demonic trees, and zombies and demons." He bounces on the couch in excitement and she eyes him from the side, taking in his animated expression with amusement. Castle claimed that this is the turn that she's forfeited for her so-called "poor choice" of movies last night. She inwardly scoffs at that as she watches the first college kid begin to morph into a…zombie? Demon? Yeah, there's no way that this is any better than her movie.

"It currently holds a 100% positive rating on Rotten Tomatoes. I don't think you realize the importance of this; nothing_ ever_ gets 100% on rotten tomatoes! Clearly it's an incredible piece of cinematic art."

"Castle. They're trying to cut that zombie looking girl's arm off with a chainsaw." How is it that he can make fun of her for Valentine's Day and then make her watch _this_. It's a good thing she has a plan. A plan that she's been thinking about ever since he started teasing her about her movie choice. Just because she'd lost a turn doesn't mean she can't have a little fun.

He watches the movie unfold, his eyes sparkling, squeezing her thigh enthusiastically while he regales her with its history of how this movie supposedly paved the way for all the great ones to come but she's barely listening. She can't stop feeling the heat that is spreading from his palm into the muscles of her thigh, can't stop staring at the jump of his throat when he swallows, the shadow thrown over the hollow between his collar bones where the skin is peeking out from the opened top buttons of his shirt.

"And here's a fun fact: It was directed by Sam Raimi of Spiderman trilogy fame. This movie launched his career."

"Really?" She turns her face into his neck, her lips hovering just over his skin while she dances her hand over his thigh, her fingers dipping toward the inseam of his pants, slowly trailing higher.

"Yes, it's one of the greatest horror movies of all ti-" He gasps on the last words when she slips her tongue over the strand of neck muscles in a teasing trail.

"Go on," she hums into his skin, presses a line of soft kisses over his jaw line.

"But you're not even whaaaa- watching."

She grins, pleased with his lack of coherency, the twitch that surges through his muscles when she scrapes her teeth over his jaw, follows the path with the slick of her tongue. Her fingers slide higher; she scrapes a nail over the bulge between his legs and his hips jerk up, his eyelids fluttering.

"I'm watching you," she murmurs, brings her mouth close to his ear. "You are…" Kate swings her leg over his hips, settles down over his lap and his hands immediately grip around her waist. "Infinitely… more interesting." Then she sucks his earlobe between her lips and he twitches underneath her, pulling her tightly to him with a growl.

The horribly awkward horror movie drones on in the background but she doesn't care because his lips are on hers now, his tongue hot and demanding in her mouth, deep as he strokes, caresses, plays her with such practiced skill, tasting like caramel popcorn and _him_. Doesn't hear the ridiculous, tinny screams and growls with her blood roaring in her ears. Her skin flushes, the heat of his kisses racing through her body, igniting a raging inferno of want inside of her, the starkness of need startling when she'd meant to tease, play, seduce him slowly, naughtily.

His hands sweep underneath her sweater, his palms bracketing her waist and his touch sets off sparks against her naked skin. She tears herself away from his mouth on a frantic moan, reaches for the hem to rip her top over her head, at once needing to feel him against her, needing the heat of his body, the hot urgency of his fingers and his kisses on every patch of her skin. Kate reaches behind her, unhooks her bra, his eyes darkened with viscous arousal as he watches her move, the deep blue she loves so much, that licks fire through her limbs.

They still for a second, an infinite, motionless moment so thickened with desire that she can barely breathe, his body growing rigid against her as he stares at her, his gaze a mix of hot hard lust and such infinite, loving tenderness that her heart leaps, almost aches with it.

And then she tears off her bra and his mouth closes over her nipple, wet suction and the teasing swirl of his tongue, hot so hot and flashes like lightning zigzag through her body. Her head falls back, her whimpers needy even to her own ears as he brings his fingers to the other breast, circles, tweaks, rolls her nipple over and over, and desire coils deep in her abdomen, flushing her with wet heat.

"Want you," she moans incoherently, tries to focus to be able to slip open the irritatingly small buttons of his shirt, feel his broad torso, the heat of his skin with her fingertips. "I've wanted this since last night."

"Is that why you picked your atrociously bad movie?" He hums around her nipple still in his mouth, the vibrations of his voice shimmying tightly through her limbs.

Finally his shirt falls open in the front and she yanks it off his shoulders, confining him for a moment with his arms still stuck in the sleeves and he growls impatiently, putting a bit of space between their bodies to tear it off completely.

It gives her a moment to catch her breath. "Was about time you caught on to that," she grins as she rolls her hips over his in a deliberate, meticulous dance. His breath catches visibly, eyes almost black with desire and not for the first time she thinks that they were made for this, meant to be because nothing has ever felt this good, has burned this hot, this endless, breathtaking reel of searing, delirious passion.

His fingers play along the slope of her spine, the soft caress a stark contrast to the grip of his other hand over her hipbone, his thumb pressed into the dip of skin and his mouth suckling her other breast, the sensations sharp, blistering. Her thighs tighten around him, his body hard against her, jolting with need.

"There's entirely too much pants between us." His voice is roughened as his impatient fingers find the waistband of the leather leggings she's wearing specifically because of the wide-eyed, slack-jawed look she got when she wore them the first time at his loft. He teases his fingertips beneath the fabric and her abdomen contracts fervently.

"These might be your sexiest pants," he growls, trying to pull down the fabric, "but now they're really, _really _in the way."

She lifts up off his lap and he grips both hands around the waistband, trying ineffectually to shimmy them off her hips and suddenly she's lifted up and lands on her back on the couch, her pants half off her hips.

"How even do you get into these things?" He pulls, tugs, wiggles but the material is tight and clings to her legs. His brow is furrowed in concentration and she grins mischievously.

"It's worse when they get _wet_," she murmurs, arches an eyebrow and he drops over her with a groan, his mouth hot on hers, his tongue delving deep, so deep and sizzling and her skin tingles from the top of her spine down to her toes.

"I swear Kate, if they're not off in thirty seconds I'm getting the scissors." He flips his thumb over her nipple, just this one touch a blistering spear that pierces low and deep, and she arches up into him, aches for his touch, delirious for more, for everything.

She pushes against his chest so he'd let her up, swings off the couch and then she stands in front of him, eyebrows arched provocatively as his eyes stray to her hardened nipples.

"Only if these come off too," she instructs, pointing at his pants, and then she makes a show out of slowly wiggling out of the leather leggings, smoothing them down her thighs, over her knees, enjoying his slack-mouthed stare as he watches her every move. It's an unending turn-on to know how much she affects him, how every smile and quirked eyebrow, every graze of her fingertips or swing of her hips can make his heart hammer, his eyes darken, his mind incoherent. She bends over as gracefully as possible, sliding the pants off her calves to the sound of his zipper opening, the rustle of fabric as his pants and boxers finally follow hers.

He reaches for her and she climbs over his lap once more, his hand guiding hers as she settles over him, holding still for a moment as the tip of him nudges the wet, slick heat of her body. His forehead kisses hers as a wanton groan tumbles from his lips, the sound and breath bursting over her lips and she shivers, the delicious, delirious ache of want curling through every part of her.

Kate reaches for him, caresses the so, so soft skin of his length, trailing the pad of her thumb over his tip until he twitches against her palm, his stomach muscles contracting visibly and so she rises high, then sinks down over him, a smooth deliberate slide as she takes him inside her body. Her eyes never leave his, studying the flutter of his eyelids, the moan on his lips, the surprised shudder that ripples through his entire body when she focuses, squeezes her inner muscles tightly around him.

She leans closer, kisses him, caressing his lips with the play of her tongue while she rolls her hips forward, undulates her pelvis over his in measured circles, squeezes, releases, circles once more. He's pressed into the couch, his entire body taut and on edge, his breathing harsh but he lets her control their movements, watches her with hooded eyes, her name a voiceless moan on his lips.

He's filling her deeply, hitting just the right spots on every slide down and she tilts her pelvis, pressing the swollen nerves onto his skin with every swirl. She's climbing quickly, her blood racing, her heart thumping harshly against her ribs.

Her muscles quiver, around him and radiating through her limbs, and heat, blistering heat tumbles from her middle along the length of her body, to every patch of her skin. He grips her hips, fingers digging into her flesh, guiding her when her movements get sloppy, her body too tightly coiled and then they're fast, groan in unison as she slams down fast, grips him tighter, her nails clawed in his shoulder.

Her lips slip over his, more shared gasping breaths than a kiss and he bands an arm around her lower back, pulls her body tightly to his, her breasts smashed against his chest, skin slick with sweat. His mouth slides over her neck, his tongue hot and wet on her skin and she rolls her hips, tightens around him, tingles spreading like fireworks in a night sky, bright and colorful and so overwhelmingly beautiful and she burst apart, her body clenching, muscles quivering. Her back arches, her head falling back and his mouth clamps over her skin as he groans his release into her neck, his limbs tightening when he slams into her once more, breaks and shudders deep inside, eyes squeezed shut as his hips jitter beneath her, his muscles contracting until they release on a drawn-out gasp.

It takes long moments before awareness returns to her, before she feels the chill of the sweat drying on her skin, the cramp in her hip and the limb, boneless feel of her arms and legs. Voices trickle through to her, the screen still flickering with the sole survivor walking out into the woods and the ominous groan of a zombie about to attack before the credits roll.

Castle runs his hands up and down her back, softly caresses her skin, spreading warmth with his touch as he quietly murmurs into her ear.

"You know this is a trilogy, right?"

* * *

It's a wordless, oft-practiced, almost synchronized dance in the morning, the way she steps out of the bathroom, toweled dry with her hair tumbling in soft, perfect curls and her make up done, heading toward her dresser, shooting a wordless glare in his direction.

He steps behind her, softly kisses her jaw- and hands her a scarf.

She expertly wraps it around her neck, hiding the blotchy, red evidence of their enthusiastic evening, letting the rest of the fabric fall in a blue and white cascade down the front of her cornflower blue sweater.

"I'm going to need more scarves."

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**AN:** The movie they are watching is called 'Evil Dead.' Much love and appreciation to Holly for the movie suggestion and the fact-finding-brainstorming session. Thank you so much, my friend!


End file.
